Making One's Bones
by Quinzelade
Summary: Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park's throne? Well...at least she'll have experience.
1. Three Little Pigs

_Hello, everyone! Welcome to my newest fanfic! While this is technically a 'sequel' of By No Constraint, you don't need to read BNC to read this. I intend for it to be mostly standalone._

 _Also, this fic is based around Nuka-World and intended to be read by people who have played Nuka-World. Please keep that in mind._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Three Little Pigs**

The arena hungered for its next victim.

Gage tried not to think of it as he tinkered with the back of Colter's armour, connecting it to the power grid. But thinking was difficult anyway with the alarm wailing endlessly overhead, grating against his skull.

"You got me wired up yet, Gage?"

Gage nodded from behind Colter's back, before remembering he was out of sight. "Yeah, boss."

The same shit as ever. The unlucky bastard would show up above them. Colter would try to scare them. The sheep would either panic or pretend. Cowards didn't interest Gage, whether they faked bravery or not, because cowards never _listened._ Colter's head, right on a platter, and they always took the easy way out, or let their ego think for them.

Fucking morons.

Colter stretched and stepped away, turning his head up to the walkways. His opponent must have arrived. "Finally. Now go shut off that damn alarm."

"All right. I'm on it." Gage started to stride off. He'd heard Colter's monologue many times before. No need to witness the same tired routine. He reached the control room and shut off the alarm, leaning over a panel covered with buttons.

Colter let out a low chuckle, and Gage allowed himself a backward glance at the newcomer. Then he turned his attention to the boss, who was wearing a wide, malicious grin, eyeing the person above. "Don't look like much."

Gage had to agree with him. Even by the warped lighting of the arena, the stranger looked thin and scrawny. Judging from the way their clothes hung, this one was a woman. He studied her, and saw in the gaps of her clothes and battered armour the signs of thick, powerful muscles. Not that it would do her any good. She wasn't here to wrestle Colter into submission.

"Here's a quick rundown of how this works," Colter said, leering at her. "You go stock up, make yourself presentable, and then we're gonna give these folks a show. A show where I decorate these walls here with your lovely brain—"

A deep, rasping laugh cut through Colter's speech, and the woman leaned against the railings, looking down on them as if she was part of the audience instead.

Gage frowned. This one was acting like Colter was nothing more than a fleeting amusement. Colter clearly didn't like it either, judging by the way he was screaming threats at her. But she wasn't listening, now inspecting a sword in her hands instead.

Gage hoped that wasn't her only weapon.

"Alright Gage," Colter spat, his tone raked with fury. "Let her through. Something tells me I'm really going to enjoy this." He stomped off to the centre of the arena, flexing his fingers.

Gage stared up at the trapped woman, and got the strange feeling she was humouring Colter, like a parent placating a tantruming child. But…no. There wasn't a _choice_ in this. She had to fight, whether she liked it or not.

It took a second for Gage to realise he'd fixed his gaze firmly on a tear in the woman's cowl, deliberately avoiding her eye. Irritation shot through him. What the fuck was this? He had a job to do, a waster to kill. He wasn't avoiding looking at her, just…

The answer evaded him, and Gage's temper spiked. With a silent snarl, he snapped his eyes to meet hers, glaring.

She stared back, arms folded, and tapped her fingers lazily against her arm. If Gage didn't know any better, he would have said she was bored. He shook his head, a mixture of apprehension and reluctant excitement creeping over him. It _had_ to be an act. No one in their right mind would be this—

 _"Gage!"_

Gage snapped back to his senses at the sound of Colter's bark, and hit the switch to let the madwoman through. As the door closed and sealed behind her, Gage looked at Nisha, who was skulking in the stands. The leader of the Disciples nodded, and Gage darted to the intercom that linked to the prepping room, praying the woman would be near enough to hear his transmission.

"All right, listen the hell up if you want to make it out of this alive," he muttered, shooting looks to Colter to make sure he didn't catch on. "I've only got a minute. Find the intercom on the wall. I'll make it quick."

There was a long silence, and then…

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

The statics notes buzzed back out from the control room speaker, and Gage blinked. "That you?"

 _Tap._

"Not much of a talker?" he asked, his stretched patience already wearing thin.

 _Tap._

"Great." _Just fucking great._ "Whatever. Listen up. You made it this far, so you obviously got skill. But this fight coming up is rigged. You get me?" She better get him. Colter's armour was wired to an electrical grid that repelled almost all damage. He explained as such. "Miniguns, grenades...not a scratch. You get what I'm saying?"

This was usually the part where the victim began to panic and beg. Music to Gage's ears, in any other circumstance, but taking down Colter...not good.

Instead, Gage was met with silence. He frowned. "Hello?"

 _Tap tap._

"Stop fuckin' around!" he snapped. "There's more than just your ass on the line! I stashed a weapon in the lockers. Get it."

There was a scuffling sound of footsteps and Gage leaned away from his intercom. The woman was clearly a fucking lunatic—Nuka Town had enough of _those_ to last a lifetime. But if she dealt with Colter…

 _Tap tap._

Gage quickly leaned back towards the intercom. "Got it?" He didn't bother to wait for an answer that wouldn't come. "Good. I know what it looks like, but you're gonna have to trust me. Once the water—"

"I wasn't born yesterday, sonny boy," a rough voice drawled. "Water and electricity don't mix."

 _Well at least she can speak._

"Alright, fine," snapped Gage, feeling nettled. His earlier excitement was rapidly draining away. She wasn't going to last five fucking minutes against Colter.

Almost as soon as he thought it, the lights in the arena dimmed. Frowning, Gage checked over the readings from his terminals, and then blinked with surprise. As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, he heard it again.

 _Tap tap tap._

"Power to the arena's down by thirty percent. You do that?" he said, his mouth dry. She was smart, no doubt about it. No one else had managed _that_ before. Would she actually be the one to…? He decided again not to get his hopes up. "Not bad. You're still gonna need the gun but...that oughta help."

She didn't reply, but oddly enough, her silence felt more like a comfort now. The sign of _change._ Gage cleared his throat. "It's time. I'll open the door. See you on the other side."

He heard her footsteps grow fainter as he hit the button for the door. And despite the mutterings of the crowd slowly growing around the arena, Gage swore he heard her chuckle before he cut the intercom.

 _Well, she's confident, at any rate._

He almost had himself fooled that she might be the one, until she came into view at the door on the other side of the arena.

Gage groaned. She was still holding the damn sword.

The flat of the blade bounced against her shoulder as she glanced around the area while Colter gave his speech, designed to frighten and intimidate. It was obvious she wasn't listening, and jeering laughs began to surge up through the crowd.

"Fuck it," snarled Colter, turning to Gage. "Open the door!"

Gage punched the button, but by the time Colter turned back around to face his opponent, she had sprinted past. He bellowed with rage and opened fire, but she ran circles around him, keeping close and ducking every time he tried to hit her.

Colter paused, hefting up his weapon to reload it, and as he did so, the woman threw herself back, rolling smartly into a crouched position. She raised the red Thirst Zapper and fired.

The jet of water missed.

Gage felt his heart sink, glancing at Nisha in the stands behind him. He didn't need to see her eyes to know what she was thinking—the thinning of her lips and the stiffness of her posture said it all: no more. His time was up.

 _Fuck._

Gage gritted his teeth, grabbing his weapon from the cabinet. Fine. If that was the case, at least he'd drag a few of the mangy fucks down with him.

There was a roar from the crowd, and Gage turned in time to see Colter's victim throw aside the water pistol. For a second, he thought she'd given up, until she pulled a bottle from the depths of her jacket and unscrewed the lid in one fluid motion. Then she cranked back her arm and flung it like a grenade. The bottle soared, sending glistening liquid trailing behind in its wake.

 _Water._

There was a _bang_ as the bottle made contact. Electricity sparked in a jagged arc, before the power sputtered and cut. The screams of the crowd drowned out Colter's voice, but Gage saw Colter's shock as he snapped his head in Gage's direction, his, _"What the fuck?"_ barely audible over the screams of the raiders.

Gage held his breath. This was it. _This was it!_

He ran to the glass panelled door just as the woman sprinted straight for Colter. Colter opened fire again, but it was too late. She leaped forward, her sword raised like a javelin, and thrust the blade through the gap in Colter's faceplate.

The arena shook as the two of them crashed backwards onto the floor. The woman flipped straight over Colter's armoured body and landed in a painful heap next to his head. The sword remained jutting out of his helmet, still as the now silent crowd.

Gage stared, his breath caught in his throat. He felt numb.

RedEye was the first to speak, losing his obnoxious radio voice as he exclaimed, "Holy shit!" Chatter broke out amongst the stands as RedEye continued. "I don't...I don't even know what this means! Colter, man! He's _out!"_ RedEye's next words were a stage hiss, echoing around the area. _"Gage, what the hell just happened?"_

Well, shit. There was his cue.

Shaking off his surprise, Gage straightened up and switched the intercom to the speakers. "You saw it. We all saw it! Colter's dead. We got ourselves a new Overboss."

"Her?"

Gage turned to see Mason standing, his pack crouched at his feet. For someone who looked like he'd been dunked in Nuka-Cola Quantum, the guy sure thought himself intimidating.

Mason's eyes glittered in the darkness. "Are you sure, Gage?"

Before Gage could answer, Nisha interrupted. Her tone was as cold and cutting as sharpened ice, her lip curled into a sneer. "You better know what the hell you're doing."

Gage suppressed a shiver. Unlike Mason, Nisha _was_ someone to be afraid of, but Gage hadn't made it to second in command without knowing how to bullshit. He scowled up at her and snapped, "Hey, we talked about this! She survived the gauntlet. She was smart enough to take my advice and strong enough to—"

"She can't even shoot straight!" hissed Nisha.

"And managed to kill Colter anyway!" Gage shot back, his minute level of patience already spent. He'd delivered his end of the plan, but it was always the same with raiders. Fucking backstabbing—

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

The noise was quiet, and yet it reverberated through the metal structure of the arena. Both Nisha and Mason jerked their heads to the direction of the sound, but Gage hesitated. He knew what it was without looking, and after a deep breath, forced himself to turn and face her.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

The woman was standing at the door, tapping the tip of her sword in a slow, deliberate manner. Each tap left a smear of blood on the glass, fresh enough to still run down the metal blade in her hand. She reached up, grasped her cowl, and pulled it free.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Anything was possible after all. Gage still felt his jaw drop.

 _A ghoul?_

"Who the hell are you?" Mason called out, seeming to bristle with indignation at the state of their new boss.

The woman smiled, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. "Mrs Bossanova, little pig." She banged the hilt of her sword hard against the glass to a slow, steady beat.

 _"Let. Me. In."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed that little taste of things to come!

Now, just to bring you up to speed with how I'm going to be updating this fic. I found out through writing BNC that writing to update every week is very stressful. So this time I'm going to be writing the whole thing out before I update again. Once it's complete, I will be releasing a chapter every week.

I've posted the first chapter here, Ao3, and FFnet under the same username (Quinzelade) so that people can follow the story. That way, when I finally start updating again, those who follow will get an alert to say the story is now continuing again.

Those who have read my writing before know I'm not one for short, sweeping stories. I like to build up backstories, create drama, and most of all, make you care for my characters. Because of that, I estimate this will take between 6-12 months. I don't intend for this to be as long as BNC, so it shouldn't take as long to write.

I hope to see you guys in the next update!


	2. Mouse

**Mouse**

"Have you heard the radio?"

Sarah looked up at Mr. Glass's kindly face. She returned his smile, and then glanced back down to the feral ghoul eating the remains of her breakfast. It snuffled and snorted as it smeared food everywhere. Sarah giggled.

Mr. Glass cleared his throat. She jumped and snapped her eyes back to him, feeling guilty, but he simply continued to smile, and she settled. Mr. Glass had always been nice to her. He didn't get mad when she got distracted.

He tapped the horse toy he'd made for her on the nose and said, "Bella Buttercup knows how to listen. Why don't you follow her example?"

Sarah giggled again. She liked it when Mr. Glass used Bella's name, and he knew it.

He grinned, sitting back in his seat, and said, "Have you heard the radio?" When Sarah shook her head vigorously, he continued, telling her about a place with toys. She stopped listening, imagining a vast world of trinkets, with lifesize Giddy-Up Buttercups big enough to ride. She would gallop all around the world, Bella by her side, and—

"Sarah?"

Sarah came back to earth with a bump, blinking innocently at Mr. Glass. He rolled his eyes, but repeated his explanation, and this time she listened. His face was serious as he finished. "How do you feel about that?"

"I just want to be with you, Mr. Glass," Sarah said with a shrug, looking at the feral ghouls, who were now crawling together into a big pile by the nearby metro train. "You'll look after me."

Mr. Glass gave a little sigh. "I'll do my best, Sarah. I'll do my best."

* * *

" _Have you heard the radio? RedEye says there's a new overboss!"_

Gentle hands shook Sarah awake, people muttering all around her head. Mutterings about the _radio._ She flinched and shied away, the metal around her neck uncomfortable and sweaty. She blinked, rubbing her eyes, and looked up to see Mackenzie. A tanned lady with shoulder-length, light brown hair and a kind face, Mackenzie was one of the few people Sarah liked in her new home. Maybe it was because she was a doctor and tried to help people—or maybe it was because she always took the time to check Sarah was okay, and never hesitated before touching her, despite her being a ghoul.

"Aaron has your morning chores," Mackenzie said, tucking her fingers under Sarah's chin and giving a small smile. "Sorry to bring the bad news."

"It's okay," Sarah mumbled, rubbing her eyes and getting unsteadily to her feet.

"Take your time," Mackenzie replied, getting to her feet and tugging distractedly on her own metal slave collar. "I'll try and keep Aaron occupied for a little while. Maybe if you're quick, he'll find someone else to do his dirty work."

Sarah grinned and the corners of Mackenzie's mouth twitched before she turned and headed back outside. Sarah remained where she was, yawning and rubbing her eyes again as the chatter about the radio and the overboss continued just beyond the rundown shack she slept in. She pulled herself up, shaking her legs to get some feeling back into them, and poked her head outside.

Something gripped her by the scruff of the neck and dragged her forward. She gasped, her welcome to Nuka World flashing through her mind, before she managed to turn and see the scowling face of Mr. Corbett.

He was a pale, stocky man with greying hair, his forehead and eyes etched with wrinkles. They were the kind of wrinkles adults got when they frowned a lot, Sarah thought. Mackenzie didn't have those frowny wrinkles. Neither did Wiseman or Mr. Glass. Her dad had, though. It felt like years since she'd seen him.

Mr. Corbett's lip curling with disgust as his thick, doughy fingers dug into her skin, before launching her out of the door and into the marketplace.

Sarah _hated_ the marketplace. It reeked of sweat and urine, the ground a mix of stinking puddles and dry, hot dirt. There was an old brahmin panting in the corner, too weak to pace around its cramped pen. A cloud of flies hovered permanently over its scabbed molting heads, almost as nasty as the rancid smell clinging to its pitted hide.

Sarah called her Buttercup.

Mr. Corbett let go of Sarah as they moved into the open, but before he could turn around, she took Mackenzie's advice and threw herself into the crowd, out of his sight. Even in the morning, the marketplace was always packed. Wiseman once said the key to hiding from someone was to use other people. She wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but pushing into big groups to get away from trouble had worked so far, and she wasn't about to stop.

Hopefully by the time Mr. Corbett found her, he'd have forgotten why he wanted her.

Sarah slipped through the masses, holding her breath every time she passed a raider, until she made it over to Buttercup. Sarah reached through the pen gate and patted Buttercup on one of her noses, before glancing up at her keeper. The trader in charge of Buttercup winked and turned her attention back to her customer.

A bang cut through the bustle, the doors to the market bursting open and hitting the walls. All fell silent. The traders ducked behind their stands, covering their heads. Sarah had already withdrawn her hand from the pen and scurried to the wall, flattening herself against it. Loud noises meant trouble, and not the kind of trouble you could lose easily. Only the raiders remained standing.

A solitary figure walked into the frozen arena, and every head turned to look at her. Whispers rose from the silence like a swarm of bloodbugs, hissing the same word over and over again: _Overboss._

The new overboss surveyed their kingdom, a small smile on her gaunt face. Sarah's mouth fell open. The new boss was like her. She was a _ghoul._

Sarah was old enough to know ghouls weren't liked. She'd been very young when the change happened, but she remembered enough to know the difference. Where once people had hugged and held her, they now recoiled in disgust. People like her mother.

Sarah couldn't blame them. She was a monster.

The radiation that swept through her little town claimed many lives, but the survivors crawled from the ruins, their skin flaking away. In time, they lost their hair, their ears, their noses…in the end, they were barely recognisable as human.

Her dad told her over and over how bad ghouls were, that they were both outcasts, that they had to live with other ghouls to be safe. Even Wiseman, who always stood his ground, tried to avoid conflict with humans; keeping out of their way.

This woman—whoever she was—didn't _care._ She didn't flinch away from the scowls of the raiders, or the grimaces the traders were giving her—like there was a bad taste in their mouths. She continued to smile, showing crooked, yellowed teeth, but her eyes never rested, flicking back and forth across the gathering. They landed on Sarah for the briefest of moments, and Sarah's insides froze.

Then the boss turned away and strode across the marketplace to the nearest stall. Every head followed. She talked with each trader in turn, apparently oblivious to her audience. Some traders were quiet, even respectful. Mr. Corbett tried to sneer, until the boss leaned forward and quietly said something. His face paled, and he didn't speak again.

The boss patted his shoulder, leaving her hand clamped there long enough to dig her fingers in, and then let go, stepping back. She glanced around the room, her smile fading.

"You may carry on," she said, as if she'd ordered them all to stand and stare. Then she left, whistling tunelessly and leaving the door open behind her.

One of the raiders stormed over, slamming the door shut, before whipping around and snarling at the enslaved traders, "You heard her! Back to it!"

Noise erupted through the market once more, though to Sarah it felt forced. The raiders were muttering amongst themselves, casting dark glances to the exit, so engrossed in their conversation they weren't even bothering to bully the slaves.

Sarah tugged at her collar absentmindedly, staying pressed against the wall. The raiders picked on her a lot. Everyone picked on her a lot. Except the lady who owned Buttercup. She was nice. Sarah glanced over at Buttercup's owner, but the trader was haggling with a fat, red faced man. Wiseman once told her never to trust a fat person in the Wasteland.

" _How do they have so much food while the rest of us starve?"_ he'd said as he'd picked at his daily bowl of tarberries. " _No one ever got fat off rations, Sarah. They either got lucky, or took something from someone else."_

Sarah's brow creased at the memory. She never liked it when Wiseman got upset, so she turned away from the trader and the fat, red-faced man, and stared at Buttercup instead. The old brahmin bobbed its heads in her direction, pushing its noses expectantly against the fence. Sarah grinned and edged towards her, stretching out her hand.

Fingers clamped down on her wrist, and Sarah let out a small cry of shock, before Mr. Corbett dragged her away, snarling into her ear like an angry yao guai, " _Don't you run off from me again, girl."_

They walked quickly to a stand at the back of the area, where all the slaves were huddled, casting wary looks at the gossiping raiders near the exit.

"Got her?" Mackenzie said as Mr. Corbett drew near. She glanced down when Mr. Corbett finally forced himself through the crowd, Sarah in tow, and smiled. Then Mackenzie frowned, her eyes flicking up to Mr. Corbett again. "Aaron, is there any need to grip her like that? Let _go."_

Mr. Corbett obeyed, mumbling an apology and staring at his feet, while Sarah rubbed at her wrist. She'd never heard Mackenzie sound so sharp before, and she hesitated as Mackenzie hitched her smile back into place. After a few seconds, Sarah relaxed. This was _Mackenzie._ She could trust Mackenzie, just like she could trust Mr. Glass.

Sarah felt a jolt in her chest at the thought of Mr. Glass, fragments of her dream bobbing to the surface of her memory. Her eyes began to sting, and she blinked quickly, forcing herself to focus on Mackenzie again.

Mackenzie beamed at her, crouching down to Sarah's level. "Sarah, I need you to do something for us. Something important." But then she paused and turned her eyes up to Mr. Corbett, who was looming behind Sarah. "Aaron...are you sure one of us can't…? She's only a kid."

Mr. Corbett sniffed loudly. Sarah glanced over her shoulder and saw he had folded his arms, frowning. "Exactly. We all have jobs, but she can use the excuse of passing on a message. She's small, hard to notice, and knows how to disappear. We were only in the damn marketplace, and yet she got away from me."

"Maybe you're just easy to get away from," a man to Sarah's right interrupted. He was a little taller than Mr. Corbett, thin as a rake, with slicked back grey hair and an even greyer beard. Sarah thought his name might be Chip Morse. He was always wandering around, tinkering and fixing things up whenever the raiders got too rowdy. She'd never seen him frown before, but now Chip was glaring fiercely at Mr. Corbett. "This could get her killed." He directed his gaze to Mackenzie. "I thought you were better than this."

Mackenzie bit her lip.

"We need to know what this woman is like," Mr. Corbett shot back. "The girl's our best option."

"At least use her name if you're going to force her into the firing line!"

The two men glowered at each other, but Sarah only had eyes for Mackenzie. The doctor stared back, still biting her lip, and eventually said, "We want…" Her head briefly turned towards Chip. " _I_ need someone to follow the Overboss through Nuka Town. Find out what she's about. She's already threatened Aaron, but that might be because he was being...difficult."

The unknown man snorted with laughter. Mr. Corbett huffed but didn't say anything.

"If you don't want to do it, I won't make you," Mackenzie continued. "None of us will. But if you can help..."

All eyes fell on Sarah. She felt the weight of their collective gaze pushing her into the ground, and suddenly a horrible memory clawed its way to the forefront of Sarah's mind. A dark night, not long after her dad went missing. Super mutants descending on the Slog, baying for blood. A Brotherhood Paladin, telling her to get back, to run away, to _hide._ He hadn't let her help.

Fear pounded through her chest, but she was determined to do her part. Sarah stood up straight and gave a short, sharp nod. "Okay. I'll do it."

Chip made a noise of disgust and walked away, while Mackenzie shut her eyes, as if in pain. But then Mr. Corbett moved over to her, placing a hand on Mackenzie's shoulder, and she opened them again. Mackenzie smiled widely, but stared at a point somewhere over Sarah's head.

"Good girl," said Mr. Corbett, and Sarah was shocked to see him smiling too. He cast another quick glance in the direction of the raiders, but when Sarah looked at them, they were still talking in a huddled group. Then Mr. Corbett kneeled down next to Mackenzie, a grim expression on his face. "Now listen closely…"

* * *

It was almost an hour before Sarah managed to catch up to the overboss. Nuka Town was _big,_ and yet the streets were still packed. She picked her way around puddles of muck and blood in the pitted pathways of the park, and melted into the shadows of crumbling buildings whenever the raiders turned their attention towards her. It was difficult, but no one knew how to keep out of the way like a ghoul, and Wiseman had been a good teacher.

The Operators and the Pack were muttering amongst themselves when Sarah finally spotted the overboss strolling down the sidewalk like she'd lived in Nuka Town all her life. The Disciples were glaring fiercely at the boss, but the other gangs looked...curious. Sarah bit her lip. Mr. Corbett said the new boss would probably be meeting with the gang leaders as soon as possible. It seemed Sarah had missed a meeting already. Hoping Mr. Corbett wouldn't be too mad, Sarah followed the boss at a distance. With any luck, she'd catch the next one instead.

Sarah stopped in her tracks when the boss walked straight towards Fizztop Mountain, the lair of the Disciples. Sarah's heart began to race, cold shivers rippling through her. She'd heard stories about the Disciples, none of them good. She'd _seen_ things too, but only the aftermath, when Mackenzie patched up what was left of the slaves who'd managed to escape the Disciples' clutches. A missing finger here, a nose there...sometimes entire chunks of flesh just gone, or even large sections of skin. Most of the slaves that made it back didn't survive, even with Mackenzie's care, and those that pulled through refused to speak about what had happened to them. Sarah was glad for this. She didn't _want_ to know.

What did they do with the bits they took? Sarah wondered if they ate them. It would make sense...sort of. Though why anyone would want to eat another person, she didn't know. Hopefully they didn't like the taste of ghoul. But then again, maybe they'd never had the chance to try it—and going in _there_ would as good as asking them to eat her.

Sarah clenched her fists, now trembling where she stood. The boss had gone in. That meant Sarah had to go in too. Mackenzie asked her to follow, was _counting_ on her. Sarah's breath came out in short, sharp bursts, her eyes pricking with tears as the boss went through the door into Fizztop Mountain and out of sight.

She could do this. She _had_ to do this.

Wiping her face impatiently, Sarah moved around the side of the huge, crumbling structure, avoiding the unseeing eyes of the patrolling Disciples. She needed a gap, a break, _anything_. The buildings in this place were old, just like everything else in the wasteland. And she was small. The two made a good combination, as she found out when she first came to Nuka World. As Mr. Glass found out, too.

Sarah swallowed, her throat tight, and pushed away the thoughts of Mr. Glass. He always told her to focus, and now was the time to pay attention. Like Wiseman said, old buildings were her friends. Sure enough, within minutes Sarah found a loose panel on the surrounding fencing, and she ducked through to a maze of junk between her and raider base. Smiling to herself, Sarah crouched and began to crawl, weaving through the mess with ease.

The mountain itself had a sizeable crack in the artificial rock. It was far smaller than the gap in the fence, but nothing she couldn't handle. Sarah clambered inside the tunnel and pushed on, her arms pressed tight against her body, her legs only able to help her by the tips of her toes. Her breath sounded muffled in this tight space, but Sarah liked it. She always liked the cracks in buildings. No one could catch a mouse when it hid in the walls.

Sarah smelled the other side long before she reached it. The thick scent of metal and rotten meat filled her nose cavity, making her gag. She coughed and retched, fighting to control herself before she went any further. If she made a noise, she'd be caught. And if she was caught…

Eventually, the gagging subsided, and Sarah pressed on, taking deep breaths to let the stink flow through her. The sooner she got used to it, the sooner it wouldn't be a problem.

By the time Sarah pulled herself out into the open, she was saturated by the smell. Trying not to think how long it would cling to her, she let her eyes adjust to her new surroundings, the interior of the mountain only slightly brighter than the darkness of the tunnel. There were dark splatters everywhere, and it looked like raw meat had been nailed to some of the walls. The stories of the Disciples resurfaced again, and as her heart raced she realised she'd found her answer for where the pieces the Disciples stole ended up.

Sarah slowly got to her feet, her shoes sticking to one of the dark patches on the floor, and crept towards an open space where two people were talking. The rest of the mountain was quiet, and as Sarah squinted through the gloom, she saw figures standing sentinel around the edges, watching the conversation in the middle.

Sarah watched too.

The boss was smiling as she talked to the leader of the Disciples—Nisha, Sarah thought she was called—and her tone was calm and collected. And yet despite this, Sarah couldn't help but feel tense. There was the taste of threat in the air, mingled with the blood.

Nisha seemed to sense it too. While her helmet covered most of her face and her lip was curled into a sneer, there was a hint of confusion in Nisha' responses, though the words were too distant for Sarah to pick out clearly. Then with a slight bow, the boss turned on her heel and left, still whistling merrily to herself.

Sarah crept closer. She had nothing to give Mr. Corbett, nothing to bring back for Mackenzie. She needed _something._

There was a long silence, only broken when the boss exited through the main door.

"So what we gonna do?" drawled the other woman, her voice strangely light and cheerful. "Can I…?"

" _No, Dixie,"_ Nisha shot back, and Dixie stiffened. "I don't know what the hell Gage is playing at bringing in a _ghoul,_ but we do what we have always done. We wait. We play things smart. And then, when the moment is right, we skin them."

Dixie giggled and stretched her arms as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "You think this is going to end bad?"

"I know it will. The question is _when._ But if we act now, we risk open conflict with the rest of the meat here. We'd win, of course, but if we want the region, we can't just start a war."

"Oh I can wait," said Dixie in a low voice that quivered with anticipation. "You know I can _wait."_

* * *

Night was starting to fall. Soon the streets would run with blood, the harvest of accidents and deaths plentiful. Witnesses were temporarily blind and deaf, participants unable to account for actions or name assailants. It was an unspoken rule of Nuka World—in twilight, grudges were settled.

Sarah held her breath as sounds of pain and parried words choked the air, hoping she would remain unnoticed. she sidled into a back alley and saw a figure in the gloom, whistling merrily, apparently unfazed by the dark. Sarah crouched down, watching the boss from afar.

The boss stopped, stretching out her arms with a slight groan, and then pulled out her sword, holding it over her shoulder. She stood in the abandoned alley, tapping her fingers on her leg, but no longer whistling. Almost like she was waiting for something.

Then Sarah saw it from the corner of her eye: someone moving silently as a shadow, a dagger gripped in their hands—a raider. Sarah felt a shout rise up her throat, before managing to cut it off just in time. If she stayed quiet and hidden, then it didn't matter who won the fight. She would be safe.

The masked figure raised the dagger, and the new boss whipped around, her sword slashing out towards the raider's neck. The raider hit the ground with two distinct thuds.

The boss simply stood where she was, breathing hard. Her legs buckled and she fell to her knees, gripping her sword to her chest, odd snuffling noises disrupting the silence. It took Sarah a moment to realise the boss was _crying._

"Nicky," she mumbled, her head bowed as she rocked herself on the spot. "Nicky...I can't…" The boss gulped down her tears. "What do I do?" She raised her head to the sky, still tainted with fading light. "What do I _do?"_

Sarah decided she'd stayed here long enough. Time to go. But as Sarah inched back, the boss's head snapped in her direction. Sarah froze.

"Come out," the boss said. "I see you."

Sarah didn't move, her limbs locked into place. She'd been _seen._ Mr. Glass' face flashed before her eyes, along with Wiseman's, and even her father's, pushing Mr. Corbett's cover story out of her mind. She was going to die.

" _Now,"_ repeated the boss, harsher this time.

Hot tears flowed down Sarah's cheeks as she got to her feet and walked forward, trembling so badly she stumbled several times. As Sarah drew close, the boss's expression shifted from a scowl to surprise, and she wiped her sword on the dead raider's clothes and sheathed it.

"What's your name?" she rasped.

Sarah tried to speak, but no words came out.

The boss frowned, but didn't stand, remaining at Sarah's head height. "I'm Mrs. Bossanova. Nice to meet you." She held out her hand.

Sarah stared at it for a moment, and then shook. Her skin was dry and crinkly, like her own, but her grip was warm and firm. Sarah sniffed a little, and wiped at her eyes. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No."

Sarah glanced up at Mrs. Bossanova to see she was smiling. Not the smile she had given Nisha, a thinly veiled threat, but kind and small. Sarah felt confused. Was this the same woman? There weren't any other ghouls in Nuka Town. Not that she'd spotted anyway.

"I'm sorry you saw that," Mrs. Bossanova said, gesturing to the raider's body.

"I've seen people die before," Sarah replied, seeing the old lady remained kneeling and deciding to sit on the ground with her. If she was going to talk with this woman, she might as well get comfy. Mrs. Bossanova copied her. "I've seen lots of people die before."

The overboss frowned. "How old are you?"

Sarah shrugged. "Dunno. Ten, I think?"

Mrs. Bossanova regarded her carefully, her frown deepening. "Just because you've seen lots of people die before doesn't mean you _should._ Does that make sense?"

Sarah shrugged again. It didn't, but she wasn't going to argue with her.

The old woman laughed and shook her head, muttering something that sounded like, " _Kids."_ Then she met Sarah's eye again and asked, "How much did you see?"

"I saw you crying, if that's what you're asking," Sarah replied. There didn't seem much point in lying. Besides, Mrs. Bossanova said she wouldn't kill her. Sarah trusted her on her word. "And talking to someone called 'Nicky.'" Sarah paused, wondering how much to push things, before deciding just to ask. "Who's Nicky?"

Mrs. Bossanova blinked at the question. She considered Sarah a moment, and then said, "A friend of mine before the bombs fell. I made it. He didn't."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, before Sarah said, "My name is Sarah."

"Well, Sarah, can you keep a secret?"

Sarah nodded. "I won't tell anyone I saw you crying. Or...about Nicky."

Mrs. Bossanova beamed at her. "If you want to tell people about this…" she waved her hand at the raider again, "or anything else you saw today, I don't mind. I have a feeling you aren't here of your own accord. But everything after the attack...tears are dangerous, and I'm still learning who to trust. I want to trust you, though."

Sarah nodded. "You can trust me."

Mrs. Bossanova smiled. "We'll see. For now, head on home. I need to clean up."

Sarah knew she'd been dismissed. She got to her feet and slunk away without another word. Mrs. Bossanova was a strange lady, and Sarah wasn't quite sure yet if she was a kind one. But she hadn't tried to hurt Sarah, which was more than any other raider had done so far.

Sarah kept her word when she returned to the marketplace. No one else would know Bossanova could cry.


	3. Domesticity

**Domesticity**

"Hey, it's your main man RedEye here, sending out some big congratulations to our brand new Overboss! That's right—if you haven't heard, Colter is toast! He's worm-food!"

Gage peered out of the window for what felt like the thousandth time that night, only half listening to RedEye's voice blaring out of the radio in the background. He scowled as he caught himself doing it again, staring down onto the makeshift fortress that was Nuka Town. He was acting like the boss's mother, checking if she was back safe.

"—can't wait to see what our new leader has planned. At least...can't be any worse than Colter, right? Right?"

Gage knew his concern lay solely with his own neck—if the plan failed again, he was a dead man—but he was still irritated with himself. He stomped across the room, turned the radio off, and dropped heavily into a nearby armchair. It creaked under his weight, but held, and he folded his arms, glaring at the nearby door.

Any second now she'd walk in like he'd told her to. Tell him she didn't fuck up everything up, that she was staying to sort this place out. Not that there would have been anything to sort out if Colter had just stuck to the fucking plan in the first place. Nuka World: an unstoppable force ready to take over the wasteland.

Trust Colter to fuck it all up.

Well, Gage thought idly, crossing his legs and then uncrossing them again. Not like he's a problem anymore.

It surprised him how little he felt over the matter, but Gage supposed he'd made his peace with the situation a long time ago—anger was a hell of a stimulant after all, and Colter had brought this place to the very edge. Even now it might be beyond saving, but that didn't mean he couldn't try with the new boss...if she ever returned.

Gage closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. She'd bailed the second his back was turned. It was the only explanation for her absence, and meant he was a dead man.

He glanced up as the door opened, half expecting to see Nisha and the other bosses at threshold, ready to slice his guts out. Instead, there stood Bossanova, looking just as revolting, but with a drying stain of blood on her clothes. In her arms was a bundle made of plastic sheeting, tied up with old rope.

Gage jumped to his feet. "Where the fuck have you been? I told you to meet me here!"

Bossanova raised her eyebrow at him—or where her eyebrow would have been, if she had any—and regarded him like a back-talking slave. "I give the orders, Gage, not you. Do you have any eggs?"

"I—what?" Her question caught him off guard. "Yeah, in the cupboard. Mirelurk." He stared at her as she dumped her parcel on the floor, walked over to where he'd pointed, and began rooting through. He was thoroughly unsettled now.

"I give the orders, not you."

He'd heard a similar phrase from Colter, a counter to every bad decision he'd ever made, except coloured with a few choice swears. The words were enough to twist Gage's stomach with rage. This was a mistake. This was a fucking mistake. She was another Colter, and he'd just put her straight into power like some fucking—

"Sit down," came Bossanova's voice, and Gage snapped back to reality. She was standing at an old counter, cracking a large egg into a pan set over a portable camping stove.

Gage stared at her as she worked, before finding his voice. "Where have you been?"

"Sit down," she repeated.

Gage didn't move. Finally, she turned her head and looked at him. It was a strange expression—not angry, or even threatening—but still a look that told him plainly he needed to sit his ass down right-fucking-now.

Gage sat.

"Thank you," Bossanova said, smiling a little as she cooked. Gage had to admit whatever she was doing smelled good, and within minutes a hot plate of white mushy stuff was placed on the table in front of him with a mug of steaming coffee next to it. Still, Gage hesitated, glancing at the boss's withered hands, and she laughed, catching his eye as she splayed her fingers out to him.

"Nothing's fallen off, I promise."

Despite himself, Gage chuckled, but didn't eat. She sat down opposite him, tucking into her own food, apparently oblivious to Gage's lack of appetite.

"Boss," he said after a few seconds, "Where have you—"

She raised a hand and he stopped, a surge of annoyance coursing through him. He rose up, clenching his fists, and snarled, "I'm not your fucking dog. Give me an answer!"

Slowly, she tilted her head up to face him, and smiled a benign smile. "I've been playing meet and greet with the leaders of this motley crew."

Gage stared. "You...you already talked to them?" He had to credit her for initiative at least.

"Almost all of them. Didn't get a chance with the Operators. Still, I thought it would be sensible to size them up, and offer the same opportunity."

Damn right it was sensible, he thought. Maybe she wasn't so bad a choice after all.

Gage scowled. "You could have told me." He tensed his jaw, aware he sounded like he was whining, but she would have saved him a whole lot of hassle by keeping him informed. "I'm here to help you. If I'm not in the loop—"

"You're here to help yourself," she replied, sipping her own coffee without breaking eye contact. "I picked up on enough in the arena. If I fail, you die. Which is why we're having dinner. I want to know who I'm working with first."

Gage snorted. "Raiders."

She gave him another one of her odd looks, and slowly he sat down again. He didn't know what to make of her. She was sharp and seemed to know the game, which was good. But the secrecy...Gage chewed on his tongue. That could get him killed.

"So..." Bossanova said after a moment. "I get the sense this little scheme, whatever it is, isn't quite working out the way you wanted it to."

Gage groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Understatement of the fucking century," he muttered, his head pounding just thinking about the mess he'd been in for the last year.

"Tell me what went wrong."

Gage rubbed his eye, suddenly feeling very tired. He hesitated, then let his hands fall into his lap. Shit, where to begin?

Gage leaned back in his chair, still ignoring the plate of food in front of him, while Bossanova regarding him with mild interest, waiting for him to speak while she slowly ate. He frowned, searching for the words, and then said, "You may have noticed our former Overboss, Colter, was a fuckin' asshole."

Bossanova's cool demeanour slipped as she suddenly choked on a forkful of whatever she'd just put in her mouth. He watched her for a moment, perplexed. If Gage didn't know better, he'd say she was trying not to laugh. The thought alone made him want to grin, but he fought back the urge, keeping his face blank. He had no intention of getting buddy-buddy with her.

Acting like he hadn't noticed anything, Gage went on. "And that's me being nice. Ended up being poison for the entire operation."

"What operation?" Bossanova wheezed, still coughing a little.

Gage sighed, shaking his head. "Well...Christ, how do I explain this? Nuka World...shit, Nuka World was the dream." He turned his head, staring out of the open windows wistfully, even though the town and the rolling landscape beyond was obscured by darkness. "A fortress with enough raiders to rule the region—best goddamn idea I ever had...and the riskiest."

"Risky because of all the raiders?"

"Sorta. It's not so much the numbers, but more what makes the numbers. We got three separate gangs in this place, as I'm sure you noticed when you went to play meet and greet without telling me."

He couldn't keep the resentment out of his voice, but Bossanova seemed unmoved. She nodded, pausing with her fork halfway to her lips. "The Disciples, Operators, and the Pack?"

"Yeah." Gage ran a hand through the short mohawk that was his hair. "You also might have noticed the traders on your little detour around the park."

"The ones wearing the slave collars?" Bossanova said. Her voice gave away no opinion on the presence of slaves, which Gage took to be a good sign. Most people who hated slaves got all high and mighty over it. He had a tendency to shoot such people.

"Yeah, those assholes," Gage said. "They were the reason we needed three gangs in the first place. See, Nuka World used to be a trading hub, and the little bastards were dug in like ticks. Hired guns protectin' them, with shitloads of ammunition and medicine to boot." He grinned nastily. "But three gangs, man. Lotta raw firepower. We won in the end."

Bossanova considered this. "But there were survivors?"

"Well, yeah. Someone has to do the shitty jobs we don't want to. One of the perks of being a raider, see?" His smile widened. "Hence the collars. Any of them cause trouble, stray out of bounds—fuck, any of them just pisses one of us off and bang—they lose their heads." Gage shifted in his seat. "'Course, they ain't too happy about the change in management, but screw 'em."

Bossanova perked a non-existent eyebrow. "So far so good then?"

"At the time. But once we'd stormed the gates...things went downhill fast." Gage stared at a point somewhere over Bossanova's shoulder, anger twisting in his stomach like bloatfly maggots. "Colter got lazy."

"Ah."

"He decided Nuka Town was more than enough for all the gangs—nevermind what he fuckin' promised them," Gage growled, the hot rage seeping upwards like bile. "I tried to tell him there ain't enough room for three gangs in this one section of the park, but he wouldn't listen—didn't care that things were turning into a mess all around him."

Bossanova's eyes narrowed. "What kind of mess?"

Gage rubbed his forehead with his knuckle, the headache flaring up again. "It was little shit at first: heated tempers, arguments, the occasional shooting. Y'know, stuff you can laugh off over a beer afterwards." Gage shrugged. "Got worse over time, though—people started finding excuses to turn on each other, and that's when it really got nasty, even for raiders." He lowered his hand and looked at her. "If somethin' ain't done soon, there might be no coming back from it."

"You have three gangs under your control," Bossanova said coolly, looking extremely unimpressed. "Get to it."

Gage glared at her. "I ain't got shit under my control—Colter did. And as I already said: lazy asshole."

"Well now he's gone. What's stopping you?"

"Leading ain't my thing," Gage replied, shrugging. "Not got the presence. I prefer to...advise."

Bossanova gave a mirthless laugh, her black eyes glittering. "Oh, I see. So you're just going to paint the bullseye on my back instead?"

He bristled with indignation, sitting up straighter in his seat. "I'm just tellin' you it how it is. Would you rather I bullshit you?"

She didn't respond. Her attitude was starting to piss him off, but in all honesty, he couldn't blame her. She'd been dragged into this without any choice. Then again, the fact she was comfortable giving a raider shit made him feel slightly hopeful about her competence.

Gage scowled at her for a moment longer, then settled back again. "I mean, yeah, I won't lie...not making myself a target is part of the reason you won't see me stepping up an' runnin' things, but not all of it. I got experience in gangs—the knowhow to keep us both alive. My talents are best put to use helping a new overboss get all this shit under control. You get me?"

"A raider with talents," Bossanova said scathingly, forgetting her food for a moment and folding her arms. "Wonders never cease. What sort of talents would you say you have, Gage?"

He crossed his legs, staring her out. "Aside from being a good shot and having a foul mouth?"

The corners of her lips twitched.

"I've run with gangs nearly my whole life," Gage went on. "I know how they think, what they're after. And I know how to use that to your advantage."

"Tell me about the gangs," Bossanova said, her tone business-like, her gaze sharp. Gage felt like he was being interrogated.

"Well…" Gage bit his lip, wondering how best to keep this short. "You've met them already, haven't you?"

"I know, but I'd appreciate the insight, since it's one of your talents."

He shot her a withering look. She wanted information on them? Fine. "The gangs here ain't nothin' like the ones back in the wasteland. They've got strong leaders, they're organised, and they all fuckin' hate each other. Took a shitload of effort to stop them fightin' for five seconds, never mind getting them all on board with the plan.

"The Disciples are run by Nisha—those are the crazy bastards wearing the masks. Love blood and violence—got a particular fondness for skinning people." He suppressed a shudder, having witnessed Nisha's handiwork far too often for his liking. "Nisha can have her reasonable moments...though that's been less and less lately thanks to Colter's bullshit.

"Then you've got the Operators, the guys with the suits under the armour—look a lot cleaner than everyone else. Spoiled rich kids, but doesn't mean they ain't ruthless killers. If you can impress Mags, she'll listen to you, and she knows how to rake in the caps."

Bossanova nodded approvingly at this.

"And finally there's the Pack. I'm not sayin' they're savages, but...well, shit." Gage shook his head. " They're savages. I don't know how Mason keeps them on a leash. They dress in bright colours and bones because they think it makes them look intimidating, like animals do or whatever." He paused. "I think it makes them look fucking stupid."

To his surprise, Bossanova laughed. She grinned at him. "Glad we agree on something."

Her laughter rose his spirits a little. She had to cooperate for this to succeed—his life was on the line if she didn't. Gage nodded. "All the gangs need is someone to lead them. You just gotta show 'em you're the right woman for the job."

A long, uncomfortable silence followed these words.

"And why," she replied slowly, her tone pleasant and yet somehow dangerous, "would I want to lead this disaster?"

Shit.

"Well, why not?" A jolt of panic shot through him. She'd seemed interested a second ago, even warming to the idea. "Just give it a chance, okay? You might even have a little fun."

"Fun?"

"Oh come on." He stared at her in disbelief. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this after all, otherwise she wouldn't be asking such a stupid goddamn question. "You take whatever you want, from whoever you want. Anybody has a problem with that, you cut 'em down. You telling me that doesn't sound like even just a little bit of fun to you?"

Bossanova pressed her lips together as if trying to stop herself laughing again. After a second, she allowed herself a small smile. "A little."

Gage disguised his sigh of relief with a chuckle, his heart still beating nervously. "At any rate, if you leave now, that won't go down so well. But if you're gonna trust me on anything, trust me on this: I'm in it just as much as you are. There's already some blamin' me for supporting Colter all this time, including Nisha. This shit needs to work out, because if it don't, both of our heads are gonna be on sticks. I like my head where it is and I intend to keep it there. You get me?"

Bossanova said nothing. She stared intently at him, making Gage feel like he was being analysed somehow. He was half expecting her to go back to communicating through taps.

After a few long seconds, he tried again. "So, what's it gonna be? We doing this together or not?"

She studied him a moment longer and then said, "So you're that desperate you're willing to place all your bets on the first waster that comes along?"

Gage raised his eyebrow. "You saw all those bodies in the Gauntlet, right?"

Bossanova nodded.

"Well then. Pretty obvious you ain't the first. Lotta folks got fed to the Gauntlet and the arena—but the difference is you were the only one to make it out alive. Way I see it, surviving means you got what it takes. Or at least the potential. We need someone who can get shit done. Make real progress. That's you."

"I see."

Bossanova returned to her plate of food and silence reigned.

Gage stared at her. He had the strange feeling he'd just passed some sort of initiation—as though all of her questions had served to size him up, to see if he was suitable for his position. But that was ridiculous. Nuka World was his idea. She couldn't run the place without him.

More to give himself something to do, Gage pulled his own plate towards him, poked it awkwardly with his fork, and began to eat. Turned out it was still just egg, even if it looked like shit, but she'd done something to make it taste...different. Most likely the reason was 'not being burnt to a crisp,' but he suspected she'd added something too. Hopefully not poison.

Gage considered this for a moment and then shrugged. If she was trying to kill him, at least it tasted good. He continued to eat. Out of the corner of his eye, Gage saw her wince, but he didn't care. Raiders weren't known for their table manners.

"This is fine food," Gage said with his mouth full, spraying egg everywhere, before swallowing and then picking up his coffee, slurping noisily from the mug.

"I've had a couple of centuries to practice," she replied delicately, setting her fork down onto her empty plate and watching Gage eat with an expression of alarm.

"Pre-war?" he asked, deciding to play along for now. She needed him whether she believed it or not. Otherwise, she'd end up like Colter.

"Yes, pre-war. I used to run a gang of my own before the bombs fell."

"Oh yeah?" Now this piqued Gage's interest, He'd heard of pre-war raiders, but no one who really ran with them. Shovelling the rest of his meal into his mouth, he looked up at the boss and said, "What was that like?"

Bossanova pursed her lips, drawing them up to her nose cavity as her brow furrowed, her cheeks moving from side to side. It took Gage a moment to realise she was wrinkling her nose—except she didn't have one anymore. She flicked a piece of wayward egg off her arm, before leaning forward with a smile. "Back in my day, there was a bigger law presence. If you got caught, you could be locked away for the rest of your life. No hope of escape. Maybe even execution. So everything we did, we did it subtle. I intend to run things similar here."

Gage burped and leaned back in his seat, coffee cup to hand. He'd visited enough cities to have an idea of what she was talking about. It was the reason most raiders stuck to smaller settlements. "The others won't appreciate a quiet life, boss. You don't give them what they want, they'll kill you."

She rolled her eyes. "They'll get their blood and power, and whatever other itch they need to scratch. But that's all they'll get, and they'll probably thank me for it too. I'm aiming higher than Nuka World."

Gage blinked, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He frowned and lowered it. "Don't run before you walk, boss. You need to sort this place out first."

For some reason, she seemed pleased with his response.

"I like the way you think," Bossanova said, draining the last of her coffee, and looked at him with a slight crease in her brow. "I've never had much faith in raiders, but you seem..." She set the cup down, her eyes suddenly distant.

Whatever he seemed, Gage never found out, because the wooden lift outside the window rumbled to life, and ten seconds later, Nisha rose into view. Out of instinct, Gage picked up his gun as he rose to his feet.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Bossanova said lazily, "I invited Nisha for a quick meeting."

Nisha paused, staring around the room, before spotting the empty plates. She gave a soft laugh. "Never took you for a ghoul fucker, Gage. Can't say I'm surprised, though."

Bossanova stood up too, her hand on the hilt of her sword as she smiled. "I want to talk to you about a young lady that followed me from your hideout."

Nisha didn't move, but her mouth thinned slightly. "What lady?"

"Tall; muscular. Wore your uniform, smelled like a diseased molerat." Bossanova shrugged, while Gage felt a pang of unease. "I use the term 'lady' generously. She decided to attack me." A pause. "Did you know about it?"

His stomach tightened as Nisha's mouth thinned so much it disappeared. He'd expected some resistance, but this far already?

Nisha said nothing, giving a sharp shake of her head. Gage relaxed a little. He knew her well enough to see she was being truthful.

Bossanova's smile no longer reached her eyes. "I returned the favour." She bent down, not breaking eye contact with Nisha, and picked up the plastic sheeted bundle she'd brought back with her. For the first time, Gage noticed a dark liquid was dripping steadily out of it.

Ah fuck.

Bossanova tossed Nisha the bag, and Nisha caught it by the rope. She pulled out a knife—causing Gage to grip his gun just that little bit tighter—and cut the bonds free so she could peer inside.

There was a long, quiet moment. Then Nisha began to laugh. A true, hearty laugh. She glanced up at Bossanova, wearing a wicked grin. "Looks like our little overboss knows how to get her hands dirty." She threw the bundle at Gage's feet and said, "I didn't send her. I'm not that stupid. Lower your damn gun."

Gage ignored her but stole a quick glance at the package by his feet. A severed head had rolled out from the plastic wrappings. He blinked at it, and directed his gaze back to Nisha, lost for words.

Nisha, on the other hand, was not. She looked at him, the corners of her mouth teased into the meanest of smiles, and said, "Seems you might deserve a second chance."

"No."

It took Gage a second to realise who had spoken. Both he and Nisha turned to stare at the boss.

"I'm the one giving you a second chance," Bossanova said, her hand gripping hard at her sword hilt. All benignity gone, her gaze was cold and hard. Gage bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his grin. "If you say you didn't send anyone, then I'll allow a free pass this once. But keep your people under control. Now get out."

Nisha laughed again. It was hard to tell what she was really feeling under the helmet, but her smile looked genuine at least.

"So, Gage found someone with a pair of balls." She gave a short nod and folded her arms. "Good. Maybe you'll shape up after all."

Bossanova didn't reply. Nisha turned and left, still smirking to herself.

Gage waited until the rumble of the wooden platform faded before letting out a low chuckle. "Nice work, boss. She knows not to fuck with you now. Might even respect you for it."

"Do you think she sent the assassin?"

Gage considered the question, then shook his head. "Nah. Nisha ain't stupid, like she said. She'd kill you given half the chance, but only if there was somethin' to gain. Ain't nothin' to gain killin' you now, boss. If she thinks you aren't working to her benefit though, that might change."

Bossanova nodded but didn't reply, her rigid, hostile stance deflating as she sank into a chair. Maybe it was the light, but she looked a little pale. Gage decided not to question it. What the fuck did he know about ghouls? Instead, he took advantage of her silence and quickly outlined the needs for the park. The power had to be brought back on, but before they could do that, there were other sections to be claimed, each dangerous in their own right.

When he finished, she just sat there, staring at the opposite wall. Gage frowned. "You listenin', boss?"

"Yes," she said, still not looking at him. "Sounds like a solid plan to me."

"Then why you giving me the cold shoulder?" The accusation slipped out before he could stop it. Gage readied himself for the shit he was about to receive, but she simply shook her head and smiled.

"I was just...thinking." She paused, and then said, "I noticed you didn't put your weapon down during our little meeting with Nisha. Thank you for defending me."

Gage shrugged. He couldn't claim credit. "I was saving my own skin, boss."

"I know you were. But I appreciate it all the same."

Gage frowned. She sounded sincere, but why?

She seemed to know what he was thinking. "So long as I work to your benefit, you'll keep me breathing." Bossanova smiled. "I trust your need to stay on top, and I trust your judgement of the park, but I don't trust you about anything else. It's as good a place to start as any."

He stared at her. None of what she'd just said made a lick of sense to him. "I'm extendin' your life expectancy. What else is there?"

Bossanova shrugged. "Many things." She stood up and walked over to the severed head, nudging it back into its plastic nest. Then she picked the whole thing up, strode over to the window, and threw it out. "My trust needs to be earned." There was a distant thud, followed by a string of curse words and a splash. Bossanova looked at Gage. "Up to you if you want it."

Annoyance rushed through him, but he bit it back. She was trying to be cryptic, and he wasn't going to stop her. So long as she got the park up and running, he didn't give a shit about anything else. He waited for her to sit down again and then asked, "So...how did meeting the bosses go?"

"Well enough," Bossanova replied with a yawn. She stretched in her seat and met his eye. "Mags and her brother want money, and that's what I do best. I'll seal the deal with them tomorrow. Mason wants someone to bully him around—I can provide that, too. Nisha wants blood...that may be more difficult. I'm in the habit of killing when it serves a purpose, or when someone crosses me. Not for fun. But we'll see."

Boring, Gage thought, resisting the urge to roll his eye. Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, "So why didn't you kill Nisha? Disciples wanted back alley justice." Gage held her gaze. He had to know. It felt fucking important somehow.

"Petty revenge won't get this operation started. Nisha and her gang needed to be put in their place, but I could do that without killing her. There's a delicate balance, and upsetting it isn't in my best interests. Or yours."

Gage stared long and hard at her. He felt a small spike of respect needle at him, but he pushed it away. She was pragmatic, but that didn't mean shit. Their eyes met again, and he realised from the placid smile she was thinking the same thing.

"Get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."

* * *

Gage woke to breakfast.

Not that he knew it at first. The plate of eggs—Christ, the boss liked her eggs—and something Bossanova called "brahmin bacon" had been served with a jab to the ribs, jolting him from his sleep.

He hadn't questioned what it was or why it had been given to him—a hot meal was a hot meal after all—and he tucked in enthusiastically. But like steam rising from a fresh cup of coffee, the concept drifted to the forefront of his mind.

This was breakfast. Gage stopped, fork halfway to his hanging mouth, and stared at the wall.

"God help me, boy, I will teach you table manners if I have to beat them into you," Bossanova said, flapping an old rag in his general direction. "Shut your trap. I don't need to see what you're chewing."

Gage clamped his mouth shut, swallowed, and then said, "This...this is breakfast, isn't it?"

An amused smile flickered across Bossanova's lips. "That's traditionally what the first meal of the day is called, yes." She hummed and continued to cook, the pan making a pleasant sizzling noise as she worked.

Gage stared down at the meal she'd made for him, as if trying to scry some great universal truth from the yolky mess. He let his fork fall back to his plate with a clatter. "What the fuck is this?"

Bossanova looked over her shoulder and raised a non-existent eyebrow. "As you so succinctly put: breakfast."

Gage rose to his feet, sending the plate spinning. It shattered, scattering god knew what all over the floor, and he glared at her, his stomach lurching in a way he didn't like at all. "You know what the fuck I'm on about. Who makes this kind of shit anymore? Breakfast? What's your damn game? You're supposed to be the boss, not making...whatever the fuck this is."

Bossanova frowned. "It's bacon and eggs. If you don't like it, starve."

She turned her back on him and flipped the slices of meat in her pan. The humming returned a few seconds later, though slightly strained. Gage stared at the ties on her apron—where the hell did she get an apron from?—clenching and unclenching his fists. This was stupid. The whole thing was stupid.

Breakfast.

The last time he'd had breakfast, he'd been twelve years old. A few hours later, the raiders came calling. And just like that, he'd slipped away.

Fucking breakfast.

Gage scowled at Bossanova and dropped back onto the sofa with a heavy flump. She didn't turn around again until she finally moved from the stove. Her face was impassive as she stepped neatly over the ruined remains of his own meal, and sat down opposite him. He tried not to watch her as she ate, but within minutes his stomach rumbled. He frowned, staring anywhere but her, well aware of her eyes boring into him.

"Hungry?" she said eventually.

"No." Gage said to his knees. His stomach betrayed him by rumbling even louder.

"Clean up the plate, and I'll make you some more."

His head snapped up to look at her. "Why the fuck—"

"Because I'm not an animal, Gage," Bossanova interrupted, her gaze as sharp as her tone. "And when I get the opportunity not to live like one, I take it. Since we're partners in this, I extend the courtesy to you. If you'd rather I treat you like the rest of the feral rats crawling all over this camp, say the word. Otherwise, pick up your damn mess."

Her ferocity caught him off guard, and he leaned back into the sofa, eyebrows raised. "Feral, huh? Sounds like you got a grudge, boss."

"I'm pre-war. I can't help but judge by Old World standards." She ate another mouthful. "Besides, you agree with me, otherwise you wouldn't be in the position you are. Most of them are stupid, with no self control. No smarts. You're different. Doesn't take much to see who the brains behind the operation is."

"Flattery is nice," Gage shot back, feeling on edge again, "but don't think it'll fucking soften me. Because it won't."

"I know it won't. That's why you're smart." She finished her food and stood up. "So, do you want a second round?"

Gage glanced at the broken plate on the floor. Like hell he would pick it up. "No. I'm good."

Bossanova shrugged. "Suit yourself. Grab your gun. We've got business with Mags."

* * *

The Operator's hive buzzed with activity as Gage and Bossanova strode through the front door of the Parlor. Thick red curtains lined the walls over a dimly lit, richly furnished room. Little tables were dotted around, complete with tablecloths and chairs, and dusty rugs covered the scratched wooden floor.

As they moved into Mags and William's inner sanctum, Gage spied the—what had William called it?—chandelier he hated so much.

Gage rolled his eyes. Fragile and for show. Just like Mags' ego.

The head Operator was sat at the end of a long table, her fingers locked together in contemplation as she stared down her prey. Her brother stood in her shadow, waiting to strike.

The place was far too clean for Gage's liking. But for what it lacked in threatening decor and body parts, it made up for in smell. He appreciated not having to test his gag reflex, unlike every tense visit to Nisha.

Bossanova scanned the room, her face a mixture of approval and indifference. Whatever her "pre-war standards" were, the Parlor didn't quite match up.

Mags laid her hands back in her lap and slowly got to her feet. Like her base, she was cleaner than the average raider, her blonde hair styled intricately, her features unmarked and distinctly beautiful. She reminded Gage of the posters of movie stars still clinging to the crumbling walls of city ruins. Her brother was more nondescript, with greying hair swept out of his face and a trim beard. But still.

Clean.

A real raider got their hands dirty. Gage worked hard to keep his features blank as Bossanova marched ahead. Whatever he thought of them, they knew how to make money.

"Overboss," Mags said sleekly, her gaze sharp. "I wondered if we'd been forgotten, what with Nisha and Mason receiving private audiences on your first day." She gave a nasty smirk. "One would think you were playing favourites."

"I cut the head off a Disciple and put Mason in his place." Bossanova folded her arms. "And now I have the chance to speak to you without risk of interruption. Take that how you want."

Mags glanced over her shoulder at William. Her expression betrayed nothing, but Gage knew better.

He waited.

An Operator appeared at Mags' side as if he'd stepped out of thin air, two glasses and a dusty green bottle in hand. He set them down, opened the bottle with a dull 'pop', and poured out the blood red liquid within. The Operator handed the first glass to Mags, the second to Bossanova. He shot Gage a withering look and then left. Gage didn't give a shit.

Bossanova stood with her glass, watching Mags. Only when Mags drank did Bossanova follow suit.

Good. At least she's expecting trouble.

"You know this place will struggle to accept a ghoul." Mags paused, and eyed Bossanova over the rim of her glass. "What would you do if I addressed you as 'ghoul?' Hypothetically, of course."

Bossanova's smile remained fixed, but something dark flickered through her eyes. "I'd slice off your pretty little nose and feed it to Mason's Pack." She sipped her drink. "Hypothetically, of course."

Mags raised an eyebrow. William, on the other hand, stepped forward and said lowly, and calmly, "I'd tear your head off first."

"No doubt," Bossanova replied. "Won't get your sister's nose back."

William turned to Mags. They stared at each other for a moment, and then William returned to his place.

"Feisty one, aren't you?" Mags drained her glass and sat down, waving her hand at a nearby seat for Bossanova. Bossanova remained standing, staring down at Mags. Gage chuckled, earning himself a sharp glare from William.

Bossanova sipped her drink, and smiled. "Word on the street is you're good at making money."

"Good?" Mags set down her glass and crossed her legs. "We're the best."

"That's what I like to hear. So prove it."

Mags frowned. "Pardon?"

"Prove it. Show me your outfit. Your schemes." Bossanova finished her glass and placed it carefully on the table. "I'm Old World, honey. In my day, making money was my specialty. So let's see what you have to offer."

If Mags took issue to being called 'honey,' she didn't show it. Instead, she sat up a little straighter. "I have some knowledge about pre-war gangs. Which one were you in?"

"Cosa Nostra."

Whatever that meant, Gage didn't have a fucking clue. Apparently Mags did, though, because her eyes widened. She glanced at her brother, who looked equally surprised, and then back at Bossanova. "Rank?"

"Boss."

"I don't believe you."

Bossanova shrugged. "Does it matter if it's true?"

Mags laughed. "Would certainly add a pinch of romance to this whole mess." She leaned back in her chair. "And if you are what you say you are, you might be just what we need to get things rolling again." She paused, and then said, more to herself, "Mafia…"

Gage frowned. Now that word he knew.

"Get on my good side and I might even tell you about it." Bossanova gestured for Mags to stand. "How about you give me the grand tour?"

Mags stood without argument; without a hint of ill grace. Gage suspected later, when she came to her senses, she would rage over being ordered around her own base, but right now her sculpted features were filled with intense intrigue.

"Follow me, Overboss."

Gage learned more about Mags' operations in the next hour than he'd ever suspected or even cared to know. Most of it he understood—the basics of the schemes, including Lizzie Wyath's 'persuasion' experiments. But when Bossanova started to talk technical about money—something Mags lapped up—he tuned out. The Operators were brought into the fold to run their complex scams, not teach them to Gage.

One thing he did notice was how at ease Bossanova seemed around Mags. Well...not quite at ease. Her subtle, guarded demeanour pleased Gage—she was taking this seriously.

No, Bossanova seemed in her element. Mags responded in kind. She even let Bossanova into her private quarters to show her the latest plans she was putting together. At one point, he thought he saw Bossanova's hand reach out and take something off a desk, but it happened so quick, he couldn't be sure. Mags and William didn't notice, though, and carried on showing Bossanova around. By the end of it, Gage was half expecting Mags to announce their fucking engagement. Instead, the two women stared each other down.

"I hope you can follow through," Mags said with a curt nod. "Would be a shame to replace you after such a promising start."

" you for the tour. I think our money is going to be in good hands." Bossanova inclined her head and turned to Gage. "Let's get this show on the road."

Gage matched her step as they strode from the building. Unable to resist it, he stole a quick look back at Mags and William. They were muttering to each other, not paying any attention to him. There weren't any smiles, but there weren't any frowns either.

Gage breathed a sigh of relief. Bossanova had bought them some time.

* * *

 **A/N:** Next update will be the 17th of August. Hope I've caught your interest so far!


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